


Smoke Break

by SnarkySharke



Series: Fate Drabbles [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, no mana transfer though, so normal Fate stuff, some talk on Daddy Issues, some talk on Gender Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkySharke/pseuds/SnarkySharke
Summary: Artoria comes to Chaldea. Mordred is, predictably, not happy. Cu Chulainn is just trying to enjoy a cigarette.
Series: Fate Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597582
Comments: 3
Kudos: 81





	Smoke Break

“Damn it!” Mordred hissed, punctuating the thought by punching the sliding door the rest of the way open.

“ _Every_ time! Just when I finally think I can-- Oh. You.”

Not many people used this backdoor out of Chaldea. It was some kind of service entrance from what Mordred could figure, but even with its comparative shelter, it was still a blizzard outside, just a dozen feet away from the door. Plus, Chaldea was a huge facility with only 20-some remaining human staff, and this area was rather isolated -- and, of course, even discounting the blizzard, this was still freezing Antarctica, not that it was trouble for a Servant.

So in fact, Mordred had thought this spot belonged to her alone. But…

“Yo,” Cu Chulainn waved disinterestedly, cigarette hanging from his mouth while he sat on the floor.

“The hell are you doing here?” Mordred demanded.

The Irish hero shrugged, shifting the druid’s staff leaning against him and adjusting the loose cloth around his shoulders. “No smoking inside. Not that I care, but -- just wanted to show the little Shielder a little respect. She’s a good lass.”

She should have been madder -- she _was_ madder just moments before -- but her eyes were stuck on that thing in Cu’s mouth. 

“Gimme one of those things.”

“Hah? Oh... Here.”

Mordred snatched the pack from his hand and took one out, examining it between her fingers.

“ _Ansuz,_ ” the Caster muttered, and a flame sparked to life at his fingertip. 

Mordred lit her cigarette silently, then took a puff -- and immediately began to hack.

“What?” Cu whined. “This can’t be your first time…?” A sigh. “Why’d you ask for one, then?”

Mordred hissed in a breath, scrutinizing the cigarette in her hand. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and took another drag, with more care. She held it stubbornly, then blew out the smoke slowly.

“I don’t… remember,” she said, watching it twist and drift and fade. 

“Well,” Cu sighed again. “You came out here with quite a huff. What’s getting you?”

“Shut up. You don’t want to mess with me.”

“Not as this class,” Cu agreed, chuckling. “Artoria. Right?”

“ _Shut up,_ ” Mordred repeated.

“Come on,” he groaned. “One Arthur-killer to another.”

Mordred raised an eyebrow. “That _shadow_ you and Master fought was nothing like the real King Arthur.”

“Oh?”

“ _You_ killed her, didn’t you?”

“Ahh, that’s why I like you, lass,” Cu smiled. 

“I’m a Knight of the Round Table,” Mordred bristled. “Call me a girl again and I’ll kill you.”

The Hound of Chulainn didn’t look afraid, or impressed. “If that’s what you want.”

“I said so, didn’t I? Are you looking for a fight, old man?”

“Ha! I’ve seen a lot, but if I’m an old man, you’re just a babe,” Cu pointed out.

“Shut up!”

Cu shut his eyes and waved her down, unphased by the blade of Clarent that had just materialized at his neck. “Alright, alright, just drop it. If you really wanted to fight, you would have done it already. Just sit down.”

“I’m leaving.”

“You like your body, don’t you?”

Mordred stopped again and spun back. “What are you saying?” she asked, voice low and warning.

“Not that,” he said. “Come back when you grow up a little.”

“You really have a talent for pissing people off, don’t you?” Mordred asked.

“I do. So, what I said before -- those clothes you’re wearing, every time you’re out of your armor. You don’t wear something like that if you’re ashamed of your body. And why would you be? You’re young, you’re strong, you’re beautiful. There’s nothing to dislike -- so long as you’re okay with it being a _woman’s_ body.”

Much as she was loathe to admit it, the failure of a Lancer had a point. Mordred was proud of her body, and not just because it was something she’d inherited from her father. It showed how hard she trained, it showed her exceedingly few battle scars, and -- and its form did please her. She thought she looked… nice.

She plopped unceremoniously into sitting cross-legged next to Cu Chulainn, hoisting Clarent over her shoulder and taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Women can’t be knights,” Mordred exhaled. “Women can’t be kings, or princes. Women can’t fight, and they’re not even taken seriously. They’re hated, and--”

And Mother was a woman. And Father wasn’t. Except… he was. If Mordred was a clone and she was… she... then Father had to be.

“ _Mmn._ ” Cu sucked the last light out of his cigarette, burned the rest up in his fingers, and lit a new one. “That’s how it was for me, too -- mostly. But Emer was smarter than most men I met. Then there’s Medb -- no matter how annoying she was, she was the real ruler of Connacht, and everyone knew it. And my mentor -- and her sister. I’m sure anyone who ever said they couldn’t fight was dead before they knew it. And I can tell you as a fact that everyone who failed to take them seriously met that same end. 

"Besides,” he shrugged. “We died a long time ago. Maybe we don’t have to keep being bound by old rules, eh? Be a woman if you want to.”

The knight made an uneasy grumbling. “I haven’t been a girl since I was a useless kid. I can barely remember.”

“Aghh,” Cu scoffed. “Don’t choose at all, then. Who cares? It’s a new world. We missed a whole millenium. You’re a knight, either way. Everyone knows that. And I’m pretty sure anyone who says otherwise will be dead before they know it, won’t they?”

“Huh,” Mordred puffed absently. “Maybe you’re not such an idiot after all.”

“Hmm,” the druid graciously accepted the rare compliment. “So -- back on the first topic. Artoria.”

“I take it back,” Mordred said crossly, flicking ash at her companion.

“Hey, now. You’ll have to do _something._ ”

“Nope.” 

“Ah?”

The knight shrugged, as if she had come out here for some other reason. “Like I told Master. I don’t need him any more. Her. Whatever. I have a good lord, and good warriors at my back. Not counting you, of course.”

“Oi.”

“Quiet down, old man. I don’t have to pretend to be polite anymore, either.”

“Fair,” Cu Chulainn laughed. “But hey -- you’re not just going to hide behind that helmet of yours, are you?”

She could. Her Helm of Secret Pedigree would magically conceal her identity even from those on the Round Table who should know her armor and blade by heart.

“No,” she said. “I’m here. He -- _she’ll_ have to deal with it. If she can’t stand to look at her son, then so be it. Maybe she’ll try for a rematch.”

The Child of Light didn’t notice Mordred’s fists clench onto the sleeves of her jacket. Nor did he notice when her voice wavered just slightly when imagining her father refusing to look at her. He didn’t notice the way her teeth bared or how she inclined her head so her bangs hid her eyes from him.

He looked away. “She regrets that, you know. Fighting you.”

“How the hell could you know that!?” Mordred snapped, pulling back her fist as if to punch him into the wall and, possibly, through it.

Cu Chulainn pulled the cigarette from his mouth and turned toward her, loose strands of blue hair falling over his red eyes. For the first time in their conversation, the hero met Mordred’s fire with a silent smoldering of his own.

He held her gaze, then stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and took a long pull. 

“Trust me,” he said, turning away again. “Nobody who kills their own son doesn’t think about it every single day they have left.”

Connla. The son of Cu Chulainn, set up by his mother to face his father in mortal combat, before Cu Chulainn even knew who he was. Suddenly Mordred genuinely regretted what she’d said. 

“I’m not saying you should give her the time of day,” he shrugged, “Or that it’ll turn out alright. She’s stubborn, that knight. But… something to think about, eh?”

They lapsed into silence, watching the snow swirl outside just a few meters ahead of them.

“Not everyone gets second chances.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Did you know_ that it's hard to express a character's own possible thoughts on their complex gender issues while trying to be both clear and in-character? S'great. Thanks for reading, anomalous internet folk, hope you enjoyed.


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